A collection of one shots from one Mary Morstan
by mmorstan
Summary: NEW CHAPTER 2, EDITS ON OTHERS TO MAKE LESS BLOG-Y. I've recapped my experiences on my blog but not everything really fits there. Sometimes what I want to say is a little too private to put out there for all my friends and family to read, even if they've heard the story before. Accompanies my live blog see profile . Strong bromance only!
1. How it all started

**A/N I had originally started this as a series of one shots as blog entires, but decided to go ahead and add a bit more. This is how it all started, followed by a series of one shots about how life progressed after the initial meeting.**

I had the most amazing experience.

Actually, it was really, really,really horrible but it's all ended in a completely amazing way. My life has been changed forever. The police asked me nicely not to. However, I can relate my experience as long as I leave out the specific details.

I was kidnapped right off the street when I was out to get some milk and held hostage for five days. It sounds daft, but it's true. And because I want to relate how the week ended, and not recount the events preceding it (who would?) I will keep this portion of my story very short.. Please bear with me, even though it has been over and done with for about awhile now I am still very discontented thinking about it all.

Anyway, I was grabbed and tossed into a car that looked like it had never been washed in its life and smelled even worse. I don't know why they picked those of us they did. I know someone who does know, but he's not telling yet and I'm not sure if or when he ever will. They kidnapped me, and about a dozen other people and took us far out to the countryside. So far mobile service was almost non-existent. I don't remember too much about the ordeal, but when it was all finished our little group was locked in two rooms, the children being ushered to the second room along with the mother of the youngest with the rest of in an adjoining room. At this point, to save you the horrific suspense of the matter I have to say no one was injured during the duration of our stay save one brave boy who broke him arm whose story I will recount briefly now:

A brave 10 year old boy who was the only injured amoung the kidnap-ees. I did not see it with my own eyes, but heard it and later was told by the mum who had been in the room with the children, what had happened. Our captors rarely made an appearance other than to shove food in the rooms. On one such an occasion the boy's younger brother, who couldn't have been more than 4, had fallen and was wailing. The sound was shrill and desperately loud. As one of our kidnappers entered to toss our meager meal on the floor he was obviously put off by the child and made to hit him as he shouted at him to shut up. The young man quickly jumped in front of the attacker, shouting back at him in anger that he was just a small boy. From what I was told, the man barely slowed in his movements and instead unleashed a powerful swipe the knocked the young man down and in doing so, between the blow and hitting the floor, broke his right forearm. Thankfully this kerfuffle was enough to alternately cause the young brother to hush, and the man to leave. Unfortunately it wasn't until we were rescued that I found out about, and was able to treat in some small fashion, the lad who saved the day.

And now on with the rest of the story.

The first 24 hours or so were the worst. No one had any idea why we were there, nor what was to become of us. We did discover that all of us were brought approximately within a day or so of each other, in what little we allowed ourselves conversation. After the first day, things became somewhat routine and we all, I think, found comfort in the three small meals we shared, lights out just after dusk and a full supply of loo rolls.

So that is how we spent our time. Terrified, silent and trapped but unharmed.

At this point I can no longer go on without mentioning our heroes by name. Surely you've read about them in the papers over the last few years. They've been held up on pedestals, dragged through the mud then picked up, cleaned off and set down somewhere in the middle which is where they enter my life story. To be honest I didn't really recognize or understand who they were until later. I had a vague idea but I had other things on my mind at the time.

Our rescuers were none other than the great Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. John Watson.

The first indication I had that help was on the way was when the door leading to the front of the house was silently cracked just a bit and an unfamiliar face peeked in at us, then quickly disappeared (later I realized this had been Sherlock verifying we were there). I was the only one that noticed it, and the first person I engaged didn't really believe that I'd seen anything. A few minutes later we heard a bit of a scuffle, then the door burst open and one of our captors flew into the room, desperately trying to reach the second room and then most likely, escape through the room beyond. The one I had seen peek inside the room launched after him and caught him before he even got to the door. As they fought, a new face rushed into the room and quickly scanned the room as he headed toward his friend. In hindsight I'm certain he was trying to assess who needed him the most, Holmes, the group of stunned captives or the second assailant who they had yet to see but I'm sure they knew was there. He initially started toward us, but as he met my gaze anchored on the door they had all just come through he hesitated and turned toward his companion instead. I believe he changed course because I was the only one standing up and looking like I was paying attention, and obviously expecting another person through that door. In a split second the look in my eyes must have screamed danger as I turned my gaze to him, desperately trying to vocalize what my eyes were seeing – that I could see the second assailant coming through the door and he was armed.

I will try to relate what happened next, but it happened so fast I don't think I can do it justice. Imagine everything you are about to read happening in about 5 seconds or less.

Dr. Watson reacted immediately. He moved quickly over in front of Mr. Holmes, I think protecting his back as he finished his business with the man currently at his mercy. He raised his gun in anticipation but did not fire when the danger burst into the room. What I witnessed next was nothing short of miraculous. Dr. Watson adjusted his position to better be between this new threat that appeared and Mr. Holmes while he took aim. I heard a deafening blast as the assailant's gun exploded and I saw the bullet hit Dr. Watson, but he didn't even stumble as he instantly returned fire. I could tell he hadn't wanted to, but his aggressor wasn't going to find a diplomatic solution to their problem and was intent on killing him and Mr. Holmes (and maybe all of us). When I looked to the doorway, the assailant was already on the ground, dead within seconds I think, since the shot hit him right in the heart. Dr. Watson had not wanted to fire because when he shoots, he shoots to kill, apparently.

Mr. Holmes in the meantime had incapacitated his foe, with or without killing him I did not know (I later found out that he was only unconscious), and turned back toward Dr. Watson immediately on hearing the shots. He asked, very simply and quietly, "Are you all right?"

It seemed like a silly question to me, but I had seen the events transpire and could now see blood dripping to the floor. I was sure he saw it too.

Then Dr. Watson just said "Yeah."

And there is was. Whatever conversation that had just transpired was nothing that I heard. That short exchange told the taller man all was not well and he instantly reached out to catch the other as he suddenly collapsed.

This is when I started to react like I should have all along. Treatment for a gunshot wound already flying through my mind and my jacket coming off, I raced over to them and declared "I'm a nurse, I can help."

All I heard was "I know what you are, and he's a doctor he doesn't need your help, he has me. Go help these other people." and then "Shut up Sherlock I'm in a bloody lot of pain at the moment and I bet she has a better bedside manner than you."

And that, my friends was my introduction to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

I knew of course, that just being a doctor didn't make you invulnerable to injury or give the magic ability to heal oneself. I also knew distracted, concerned chatter when I heard it. This man may have believed I wasn't needed but the fact another man lay bleeding on the floor in front of me said otherwise.

I won't go into details. It will probably either confuse you or creep you out if you are not in the field, not to mention it is a tiny bit personal. Dr. Watson had been shot and was bleeding very badly. The exit wound was oddly small which at the time did not seem significant and I assumed it had something to do with the type of bullet that I didn't understand. I used my jacket and pressed it hard into his side to stop the bleeding at the entrance wound, as the exit was hardly bleeding at all. Mr. Holmes finally seemed to think better of the situation and stood up and asked the doctor. if would be all right while he went to find a signal to call for help. All he got was another "Yeah, and tell them to be prepared for significant blood loss." before he disappeared out of the room.

It took quite a while before the bleeding slowed down, but it took longer for Mr. Holmes to call for help. It was probably around 20 minutes before he came back. While he was gone, I kept Dr. Watson engaged in conversation which turned out to be a sincerely easy task, considering. Apparently he'd been shot before in the army so this was not an entirely new experience and so together we assessed his situation and concluded that the damage appeared to be minimal, or at least minimal enough that he would be able to hang in there until the ambulance arrived with proper equipment. After the bleeding slowed and eventually stopped I was suddenly relieved and thought that maybe this was the worst of it. As far as gunshots go, this seemed to be a 'good' one if you could ever call one that. Soon after chatting about his experiences with the alarmingly calm doctor I felt grossly inadequate to be the one treating him when he obviously was an extremely competent emergency trauma doctor. I knew what I was doing though, so I tried not to be intimidated.

When Mr. Holmes finally returned I could see relief in his eyes upon seeing us chatting quietly, his hand in mine as I monitored his pulse and my jacket tentatively removed from the wound. Mr. Holmes relayed that he had talked to the Detective Inspector (Lestrade, I later learned) and there was an ambulance on the way but it would be at least another 30 minutes due to our remote location. Dr. Watson winced at that and all at once I saw simultaneously a look of a doctor who knew more than he was letting on and a worried glance of a friend who saw this and looked back to me for my assessment. As long as we'd stopped the bleeding I didn't see why he wouldn't be all right until they arrived and told him as much. I questioned the doctor about how he now felt, if there was something he was concerned about but he brushed us both off. The look Mr. Holmes gave me could only be described as pure accusation, as though if my competence did not equal that of the doctor I would long regret it. The words to convey this lack of faith had barely begun to leave his lips before Dr. Watson shushed him and directed him to explain what was happening to the other victims and to make sure the two attackers were definitely incapacitated. Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes and groaned, obviously annoyed at the task but with a look from his friend he left to tend to his duty without question.

After a few more minutes we were now about 35 minutes in, 20 or so to go. His pulse was becoming more erratic as it sped up and breathing more difficult, and this is when Dr. Watson told me what was on his mind as he continually glanced in Mr. Holmes' direction to make sure he wasn't listening.

Over the ten minutes or so, just before Mr. Holmes returned and set off again to talk to the other victims I was aware that Dr. Watson's pulse had been slowly increasing, his breathing becoming too shallow and his overall status declining slightly every few minutes. After being hopeful that he would be all right it I felt like I completely let them down. I had expected a decline but I didn't expect how quickly it was happening. It was even more distressing to know that we wouldn't see an ambulance for at least another 20 minutes or so.

"Look, the bullet must have fragmented. I think I'm hemorrhaging. It must be slow enough that the entrance was able to clot but it's enough that I'll still bleed out soon" Dr. Watson told me flatly (there was more to it than that but those are just details you don't need to know). That was a very bad thing because I didn't think I could do anything about it without some kind of equipment. But he took my hand and looked into my eyes, his confidence transferring to my own. He continued, "I know you can do this just from talking to you. I can tell you know you're doing. I have what you need. I think I can talk you through it, but only if you want to. I won't hold it against you if you don't." I knew he might not but his friend certainly would.

It took him a minute to get all of that out, and my heart was already breaking thinking how little I could do to help him. He had been remarkable since the moment I first moment I saw him and we both knew he wouldn't make it if I didn't at least try to stop the bleeding. I smiled and replied, as steadily as I could, "Of course I'll try."

As I started to loosen his clothes I calmly listened to him explaining how he could walk me through finding and suturing the source of the blood loss. That was when Mr. Holmes returned and he was immediately suspicious. What I didn't know at the time, but I certainly know now if that Sherlock Holmes didn't need to hear me say a word to assess a situation. Dr. Watson just looked up at me and nodded. I returned the nod to tell him I could, and would do it as soon as he wanted.

Mr. Holmes knelt down next to him and quipped something about the death of man he had shot and Dr. Watson gasped out something about having a beautiful woman undressing him and for him to let us alone. Mr. Holmes smiled. It's always a good thing to see normal behaviour but in their case it was endearing the way they were trying to calm each other. They were pretty good at it too, but I had seen it before. Mr. Holmes' hands were trembling slightly while the doctor kept trying unsuccessfully to hide how much pain I knew he was in.

I was examining the wound, thinking ahead for what I was going to have to do when Mr. Holmes grabbed my wrist. I met his fearsome gaze as he grumbled "Dr. Watson will be all right for a few minutes with me. I need you to check on the others. I believe that older boy is injured." This is when I heard his mum cry out and with another forced nod from Dr. Watson I rushed over to help them.

As I examined the boy's arm and went about securing it I glanced back at the two men. They were talking in low voices and I couldn't make out what they were saying but Dr. Watson was watching me intently, occasionally glancing up at his friend. I assume they were sizing me up, deciding how much use I would be and if it was worth the risk, but the look in his eyes said he was also thinking about something else. Our eyes met and smiled weakly, apologetically almost. When I looked over to Mr. Holmes he quickly looked away, letting out a deep huff that I could hear across the room. I remember having a strange inclination that he had been scolded.

When I was able to return to them Mr. Holmes held out his hand and motioned for me to take a scalpel. He simply said "You'll need this." He rifled through the pockets of Dr. Watson's jacket and laid out several other things that might come in handy. Why on earth a doctor would walk around with all these things loose in his pockets I had no idea, but I supposed it came with the territory. Mr. Holmes picked up a small bottle. I looked at him, expecting an explanation and all he said was "Suture."

Even through pain and shock Dr. Watson was able to roll his eyes and give an exasperated sigh at the lack of helpfulness in his friend. "I'll do my best. I'm starting to get pretty hazy though…" It worried me the way he trailed off but we didn't have a lot of options at this point. Plus I had been an A&E nurse for 3 years so I had quite a bit of experience handling significant traumas. However, I always had a doctor or surgeon doing the intricate work. By this time I suspected he had lost significantly more blood than we though and it was obvious he was nearing a dangerous level of shock judging from how rapidly he had declined and that he was beginning to have trouble thinking and speaking clearly.

Only about five more minutes had passed and the task before me was now more terrifying than being kidnapped.

The basic idea here is that I had to find the source of the bleeding and stop it. And, happily, I did. Fortunately once I made an incision it was completely obvious that the bullet had indeed fragmented and only nicked an artery. I take no credit for it, all I did was make a cut and press a button for some suture. Dr. Watson somehow talked me through the entire thing. I believe it was a testament to his military experience, having to deal with similar injuries in the thick of battle. It was the most terrifying, horrifying and more rewarding thing I've ever done.

But this story does not end here. While we were able to succeed with this one challenge more lay ahead. There was still about 5 minutes or so until the ambulance arrived. Dr. Watson was struggling every second to not pass out as he struggled valiantly for every single breath, not allowing his eyes to close. The three of us knew if that if he did, he probably wouldn't open them again.

Mr. Holmes seemed hyper aware of this. He was silent but could not stop moving. His nerves must have been completely shot because when I spoke to him he jumped as if he'd forgotten I was there. He would barely take his eyes of his friend even for a fraction of a second. He took Dr. Watson's hand awkwardly. I felt so bad for him watching his friend teetering on the edge of consciousness and death. When Mr. Holmes took his friend's hand, the doctor shot him a look of utter disbelief and it was almost funny that he'd done such a thing. While I watched the two of them I could again see words were being spoken without a single thing being said. It was like an unspoken language they developed just for them, and my heart skipped a beat even as it ached as though I were witnessing something fantastic and not to be forgotten. I took his other hand to check his pulse when he finally closed his eyes. His breathing was so shallow and desperate and I felt so completely and utterly helpless that all I could do was squeeze his hand.

However Mr. Holmes certainly felt no qualms about it and shouted "John!" I nearly jumped a foot in the air. Dr. Watson's eyes flew open and he looked up at his friend, confused. "Don't close your eyes John". It almost sounded like he was begging him.

The conversation then went like this:

"Sod off Sherlock. I had to watch you die."

"I didn't really die John."

"I know, I'm glad."

Silence.

"I'm still mad at you though."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Silence.

This back and forth continued for another minute until we heard the wail of the ambulance. Knowing how dangerously close Dr. Watson was at this point to going into cardiac arrest judging from his rapid, flailing pulse, I stood and rushed outside to lead in the paramedics and left the two alone.

I was greeted by Detective Inspector Lestrade. I begged the paramedics to hurry, spouting off Dr. Watson's status and needs. Thankfully they were prepared due to Sherlock's call and were set for anything that might be necessary. We had just come inside the main door when I heard the most anguished cry I'd ever heard in my life.

"John!"

I don't really remember what happened next because the next thing I knew DI Lestrade was pulling me inside. He left me by the doorway to the room as he rushed to Mr. Holmes, who had just let the paramedics take over. I heard "stopped breathing" and "still a very faint extremely rapid and fluctuating pulse" but the rest of the conversations simply ceased to exist in that moment. They immediately started a transfusion and patched up my shoddy work as they hooked him up to a defibrillator. Mr. Holmes suddenly knelt next to his friend's pale face and whispered something in his ear before stepping back and just watching the paramedics. When the transfusion was started they let the defibrillator do its work, deciding if there was enough of a heartbeat to shock back into rhythm. I knew this would be it. If he wasn't able to stabilize on his own now, he never would. The DI moved to Mr. Holmes' side and put his hand on his shoulder.

Three desperately long shocks later a very slow but consistent beep told us Dr. Watson had done it. I breathed out deep breath I don't remember holding and put my face in my hands. When I finally looked back up Mr. Holmes had already left and was in the corner talking to the DI, pointing to the different victims and assailants and his mouth moved rapidly.

I remember being perplexed at how the moment he heard the beeping confirming Dr. Watson was indeed alive he could turn off all that raw emotion I had just witnessed. He kept glancing back at the doctor every few seconds or so but otherwise did not seem to be bothered at all that his friend had just nearly died and would still be facing a serious uphill battle over the next few weeks, never mind if he made it to the actual hospital.

I turned back to Dr. Watson and knelt beside him, taking his hand and said "That was amazing. Dr. Watson, Absolutely extraordinary." I felt sad he couldn't hear me but I needed to say it.

"Couldn't have said it better myself" I heard Mr. Holmes' calm, deep voice remark from behind me.

I looked up at him and smiled. "I think he'll be okay."

"I know he will."

I think it was right then I decided I would have to see this through. I needed to know that our two rescuers recovered and needed to see them at home, happy and healthy.


	2. Tea Time

**A/N Finally, a more complete little series of events!**

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If you remember, Sherlock invited me to their flat for tea once John was released and so here we are. I finally got to visit my heroes in their proper habitat.

When I first arrived, their landlady Mrs. Hudson let me in. She led me upstairs where I could hear a violin playing, the hauntingly beautiful melody floating down the stairway. When she pushed open the door I saw Sherlock standing by the window instrument in hand, and heard John welcoming us from the kitchen. I stood for a moment just listening. I had no idea such a fierce, steady man could create such emotive, sensitive and docile sounds. My surprise must have shown because the lovely Mrs. Hudson smiled back at me and commented on the music, complimenting him in my stead.

Once inside their flat I suddenly felt completely out of place. It's a bit difficult to explain. The time we shared was intense, extremely personal and very out of our elements. Even in the hospital we were in some distant world where hours were turned upside down and food was delivered on little trays. Yet here I was standing on the fringe of the extraordinary world they shared and I really didn't seem to fit. Somehow everything in the entire flat seemed to be just right. I could smell some kind of disaster from the kitchen that was horrible and still comforting because it reminded me of how they smelled. There were piles of books and papers everywhere as though picking up was an afterthought but the chaos was deliberate and organized. The light was shining in just so, making the whole scene surreal and oddly beautiful like an old library on a summer day.

The next thing I knew John was leading me over to the sofa, asking how I took my tea Sherlock had stopped playing.

We (by we I mean John and Mrs. Hudson and I – Sherlock only seemed inclined to comment if he felt the need and otherwise ignored us) chatted for a good hour and after several very tasty cups of tea I stood to took my leave. I was enjoying my visit immensely but I didn't want to impose longer than was proper. John asked if I'd like to get a bite to eat with him, which I happily agreed to, eager to prolong our time for fear that I wouldn't see them much now they were home. I noted the look on Sherlock's face, but I couldn't tell if it was disgust or pleasure, because that type of mystery was how it seemed to be with him. John noticed too but didn't say anything as he waited at the door for us. Mrs. Hudson followed us down the stairs and saw us off with a smile and a hug. She was very kind and asked if I'd be back soon to visit, to which John replied that of course I would be.

We walked a short distance to a restaurant that John frequented. After we'd ordered we chatted some more about our respective medical histories and where we'd worked and what we preferred in the way of fields. I told him it'd be lovely if he worked at Bart's but he shook his head. Too much excitement. If he works, he said, it's needs to be as dull and boring as possible to make up for his other life with Sherlock.

I used the mention of his flat-mate as an opportunity to try and figure out what had been in that detective's head as we'd left. I wanted to know what the look meant, or at least if it was good or bad.

"Everyone who knows you says he's a complete twat but he's yet to be anything but pleasant and kind to me. And when we left just now he gave me a look that I couldn't even begin to decipher, not even as good or bad." I could tell he was as confused as I was that I hadn't been offended by his flat-mate yet and he asked if he'd done this or that or maybe said this or that, but he never had.

"Always extremely cordial" was the only for me to describe his attitude toward me.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then he snorted. He actually snorted at me. I shrugged, not getting the joke.

"I think I understand" he said, and just smiled. We ate in silence for a few minutes before I finally gave in to curiosity.

"What then, what do you get?" I asked, but I got no reply. He just grinned and shook his head. A horrible thought crossed my mind and slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Oh god, you think he fancies me?"

The resulting gasping, choking and giggling told me the answer and I shall never forget it nor the overwhelming and multiple emotions that passed over me as he laughed at me.

When he finally regained his composure he assured me it wasn't me he was laughing at, it was the idea of Sherlock fancying anyone. Me, he told me, I was lovely. Very lovely. Then came his slip up, or maybe it was intentional.

He said "God knows how he wouldn't fancy you. I fancy you. I fancy you quite a bit".

Yes friends and family, as Dr. John Watson sat with his head in his hand, smiling and telling me he fancied me I suddenly, absolutely, resolutely understood that I most definitely fancied him as well. I realized that since the first moment I saw him I had seen someone amazing, worthwhile, important and strong and courageous, not to mention good looking to boot. I was hesitant but I couldn't resist smiling in return.

"Kind of you to say, but I'm just ordinary." I replied, feeling the heat of a blush on my cheeks and fiddling with my ear as butterflies awoke in my stomach.

He kept smiling and after a moment said "So am I."

My mouth opened then closed and I was completely perplexed. "I don't understand. You honestly expect me to believe that? You are anything but ordinary."

His expression change as he contemplated that. "No" he said, deciding "I am ordinary. Absolutely. That's why I get on so well with Sherlock. We balance each other out."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Seriously? You seriously believe that?"

He shrugged and nodded.

"How can you believe that?"

Again, a shrug. "I live with Sherlock Holmes. He's the brilliant one."

I looked over at him, my smile fading from my lips. "No" I said softly. "No, I think he's just the really smart one. You're the extraordinary one John."

We sat for a moment in silence, lost in our own thoughts before we continued our conversation as best as awkwardness permitted.

"So, Sherlock doesn't "like" anyone eh?" I asked.

John shook his head "He's not genuinely nice to anyone either. The fact that you've yet to see his real personality is a complete mystery to me."

Now, here is my opinion of the matter. Whether it is even close to the truth I cannot wager a guess. From what I have heard in bits of pieces from friends and newspapers, John has had a lot of girlfriends. Sherlock can be a bit of a git so it's not too hard to draw the conclusion that John has trouble keeping anyone around because Sherlock drives them off. That and the fact that John will undoubtedly put Sherlock above any girlfriend tells me everything I thought I needed to know.

And me, when we first met, John had been dying. He literally almost died right in front of us and because of that experience I can say for certain that Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are absolute soul mates and best friends in every way. And to witness it at that level, the way I did, was nothing less than an honor. I can imagine as a girlfriend, meeting Sherlock for the first time through a forced introduction and subsequently watching her boyfriend repeatedly ditch her for his flat-mate, would not go over well. But they hadn't seen what I saw. They wouldn't understand, they couldn't understand. I helped Sherlock save the life of the one person in the world he couldn't bear to watch die. Sherlock tolerates me because I've literally seen him at what I think he considers to be his worst. I honestly didn't think Sherlock had it in for John's girlfriends, but I think he hasn't met one yet that he trusts with John, to let him be the John that he knows and needs.

And respectively I also watched John save Sherlock's life without even a fraction of a second of hesitation for his own safety. I would be a fool if I thought for one second that I could come between these two, and honestly I would hate myself if I did. Where there is John there is Sherlock and where there is Sherlock there is John and I understood that.

I didn't tell John of course, everything I imagined. It's for me to speculate and they would most likely deny anyway. I had to be honest with myself and keep things in perspective. I have a great new job, I had met some amazing people and soon I'd have my own flat (and hopefully my own puppy).

Never mind I'm in my late thirties, all my friends are married and have kids and I am thrilled at the idea of having a dog be my main company.

"So" I pondered, back in the conversation "He's just nice to be for no reason at all?"

"Best I can figure, he just appreciates that you" he pointed at me with a fork, "saved my life."

I nodded, unsure what to make of that. Certainly they'd been in similar situations. I couldn't be unique. "Just doing my job" I replied, not sure what other words would be appropriate.

He nodded, understanding. "Still, not every person, even trained, could handle what you went through.""

"Practice" I laughed.

He looked at me oddly. I'd said too much.

I blew it off as being having worked in the A & E, which he hesitatingly accepted. The conversation returned to the normal chatter of getting to know a new friend.

After lunch John saw me home. I was hoping my flat-mate June was home to introduce her, but she had stepped out.

It's a strange feeling to figure out how to say good afternoon to someone you've treated, subsequently visited every day for weeks while they were unconscious, helped recover and return home and just learned fancies you. And that makes me sound far too glamorous. He is the competent doctor, the war hero, the media sensation who accompanies the world's only consulting detective on adventures every other Tuesday.

And he's the one who stood in my door and asked if he could kiss me. I must have looked completely stunned, because he added "It's only fair" as though it were a perfectly ordinary thing to casually ask.

My embarrassment was immediately squashed by confusion. I had to ask. "Sorry, fair?"

He shrugged and said "The first time we met you had your hands literally inside my body. I don't think a kiss is too much to even the playing field a bit."

I will never forget this sentence because it was something that only 'Bachelor John Watson' could pull off saying. Who could actually say something like that? Now I understood how he'd managed to lure in so many girlfriends. Cute and confident, dangerous and safe, all radiate off him in waves when he turns on that charm.

"I suppose so." My reactions definitely needed work. At least he'd asked first.

In the amount of time it took me to formulate my amazingly suave response he'd already come over close to me. I remember raising my eyebrows expectantly (what's the harm in a kiss right?) just before he reached out with one hand and put it on my face and pulled me in for a kiss. When he slowly moved his head back he just watched me carefully, his eyes darting between mine as though it was far more than he bargained for. He hadn't moved his hand and instead of dropping it and stepping back, he brought his head down for another kiss as though he didn't believe the first had actually happened. Both times I thought I hadn't done anything more than just kiss him politely back, but realized by the second kiss my hand had gone to his neck, silently giving more than I'd intended to.

We parted again and he leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes, his breath just a bit faster. "What just happened there?"

I shook my head faintly. "No idea." I cleared my throat and backed away. It would have been so easy to ask for more but my own demons had already slipped up and let me progress too far. I simply hadn't been able to stop myself, and honestly I hadn't even wanted to.

He hadn't taken his eyes off me and I knew he sensed my conflicted reaction and he good-naturedly didn't push the matter. "I better . . . um . . . go" he said clumsily.

I nodded and made to hug him. _"More mixed signals" _ I rebuked myself. He didn't let my distress affect him though, and he obliged, pulling me close to him and embraced me tightly. It felt very comforting, like he understood the undercurrent of emotions running through me, but also didn't regret kissing me and was happy to have the additional contact. He released me and spun around toward the door.

"Later then?" he asked hopefully.

I dipped my head "Definitely."

I closed the door behind him and slowly made my way to my bedroom and lay down on my bed face first. I was completely overwhelmed and exhausted from the sheer amount and intensity of emotions, and promptly fell asleep until my flat-mate returned and found me snoring, laying halfway across my bed in the wrong direction.


	3. It comes out

**A/N Finally! The missing chapter between the last and next . . . Now there is just one more between this and the first that will tie it in a bit better**

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Somewhere over the previous few weeks the fact that I my roommate had a car (I was trying not to make it blatantly obvious that I was rich) came up in conversation. Not too long after that, I was ambushed by my new 'acquaintances' Sherlock and John. They were on a case that required immediately rushing off to find a clue, and it was too late in the evening to rent a car. I agreed of course, even though I had just gotten off a long shift and was not looking forward to a two hour drive. They also informed me it would be an overnight trip, which also should have caused me some concern but really didn't. It would be my day off and if I couldn't trust these two, who could I trust? They'd already saved my life so I couldn't imagine them doing anything to jeopardize it.

We stopped at an inn where Sherlock said he'd made a reservation. He of course rushed off the minute I turned off the car, leaving John and I to check in. When we learned there was only one bed however, I started to wonder if this had been a good idea after all.

John of course had to stay on the bed. Although he was more or less fully recovered, the idea of making him sleep on the floor or sofa didn't set well with me. I assumed Sherlock could share the bed with him, leaving the sofa for myself. But it wasn't meant to be for when Sherlock returned he planted himself on the sofa and didn't move again. John had already gotten ready for bed and laid down when he noticed my hesitation and glanced over at Sherlock. "I don't think he'll be moving much tonight. You can lie down here." I nodded, hoping I didn't seem too nervous, and headed to take a shower.

When I was finished I sat down next to Sherlock to brush my hair. After several minutes of silence I cleared my throat. He looked at me, unaware I had been sitting next to him. John's heavy breathing told me he was already asleep.

"Do you do that often?" I asked.

"Sorry?"

"Do you watch John when he's sleeping often?"

The look on his face was so utterly confused I almost laughed. "Why would I do that? He sleeps in his room. Awkward bit that, wouldn't it be?"

I shrugged. "You've been doing it for since I came out here. I thought it might be habit."

Again, confusion. "Oh" he paused, understanding. "I was thinking."

"You do that a lot."

"Yes."

I could tell he was trying to be polite but really had no idea what to say, or what I was trying to say or a desire to talk at all. He was still watching John, but his expression had softened a bit. This part was obvious, especially with what we had been through together.

"Does he know?" I ventured.

"Know . . . what?"

"How you feel about him."

Sherlock smirked, then looked thoughtful, and then raised his eyebrows and quietly exclaimed "Oh!"

"What?" it was my turn to be confused.

"I see. You want to know if we're a couple, or if John is available. Or. . ."

I cut him off "Actually, at the moment I'd just settle to know if he or you, or whatever you have is…." I trailed off unsure of the words I was looking for.

Sherlock chuckled. "He's not gay. I would think the repeated advances toward you would have made that obvious."

"I don't necessarily trust anyone to be what they appear to be these days. And you?" I felt a bit odd asking but he was too fascinating to not take the opportunity to ask.

"I'm not interested"

"In…?"

"Emotions. Sex. Attachments. Not really my area. That's more John's thing."

"Oh" I said, still not sure where things stood. I wasn't even sure if I was just curious or perhaps also a bit hopeful.

"And as far as how I feel about him, I dare say he knows as the feeling is somewhat mutual. Isn't that right John?"

My heart caught in my throat. This conversation was fine with Sherlock with his distance and invulnerability to such weaknesses, but the thought that John has overheard our conversation immediately brought a deep blush to my face. I glanced up and saw that John was still lying down, but his eyes were half open as he replied sleepily, "Sure Sherlock. If I were gay, which I'm not, and you were interested, which you're not, things might be a bit different but as it stands now we can admire each other from opposite sides of the room and I'll continue looking for a girlfriend if it's all the same to anyone."

He sat up, rubbing the back of his head and looked at us. A flash of something flashed through his eyes when he saw us sitting close together on the small sofa but it immediately drained away. "Right then, if you two are done talking about my nonexistent love life, no offense Sherlock, Mary you ought to get some sleep. You had a twelve hour shift today, drove us out here for two hours and we have to get up early. "

My heart was pounding so hard I didn't think it would be possible to lay down on the bed right next to him without it announcing how nervous I was. I tried, laying down as far away from him as possible, nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. I felt the bed shake and realized John was laughing.

He turned over to look at me. "I don't bite, unless you want me to." He laughed again at my expression of horror. I could practically hear Sherlock rolling his eyes.

"Look Mary, we've already been far more intimate than sleeping on the same bed. You don't have to fall of the bed trying to get away from me. I certainly don't mind if you touch me in the middle of the night." He gave me a gentler smile as he reached her hand out to rub my shoulder. "Seriously, it's fine, relax." He was far too entertained by my discomfort but I forced myself to calm down and just let it go. We were all adults, they were very decent men and nothing was going to happen. I didn't even know what had me so wound up in the first place. It wasn't like this was the kind of thing to make me nervous.

Then I realized that it was just John that made me nervous. If it were Sherlock would I be bothered in the least? But John was adorable and confident, patient and commanding. After a few minutes I heard light snoring and I knew he was already asleep.

After a few more minutes, as I was drifting off into dreams, Sherlock's deep voice shook me from my near sleep. "He is available, in case you're still wondering." I had almost forgotten he was there.

"Mmmm hmm" Was all I could manage in reply before sleep overtook me for the night.

When I awoke the next morning John and Sherlock were already up and preparing to leave. I yawned and stood up, picked up my clothes and headed for the bathroom. John was next to the door, buttoning up his shirt. As I passed he said "Good morning!" I nodded, stifling another yawn. He leaned over to look me in the eyes and, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, said in a low whisper "Thanks for not biting me mate. But maybe next time?"

He laughed out loud at my reaction, until I quickly grabbed his finger that was still touching my ear and nipped it, never breaking from his gaze. I smiled as innocently as I could, relishing the surprised look on his face. I didn't get to enjoy it for long, though, because once I turned to shut the door to the bathroom I sneaked a glance back at him and he was just grinning at me with that irresistible face of his. I decided flirting with him was fun and since he was so intent on doing it, I was going to enjoy it too.

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"SHUT UP" Sherlock shouted. I froze, as I generally did if someone suddenly started shouting at the top of their lungs. We looked at him silently, waiting for some kind of an epiphany but none came. At least not verbally. "I need to think" he said, his eyes already distant and intense. We had found the car Lestrade had pulled information on but it had failed to comply with Sherlock's theory, or at least it appeared that way. It looked as though it had been abandoned for quite some time at a house as equally abandoned. Honestly I wasn't the least bit sure what he was even looking for seeing as how the case (as they had briefly explained to me) involved a murder on a lake in Sussex.

John turned and started to walk away as I stood and watched Sherlock in his trance. "Are we just going to leave him here?" I asked. John shrugged. He's not going to resurface anytime soon. Let's get a bite to eat shall we? He held out his hand toward me, which I took cautiously. As we walked the quarter mile or so to the nearest restaurant he never let go.

We had a very nice lunch (although the food tasted a bit overdone to me) and decided to walk around the town a bit before heading back. John had no expectation that Sherlock might have resurfaced to reality so we had time to kill. We talked about our sisters, our profession, favorite pets and even touched on the subject of Molly Hooper (who I was becoming fast friends with). We stopped in a lovely park for awhile, just sitting and watching the people come and go. We both found serenity in silently watching the normal world go on around us and we did this for quite a long time. When we finally decided to head back we stood and took one last look at the scenery. The sun was setting and its pale rays were reflecting across the pond that marked the center of the park, making it look like there was fire dancing across the surface. I couldn't quite tear my eyes away from it, relishing a distant memory, until John took my hand and suddenly pulled me close to him. His eyes met mine and we leaned closer, our noses nearly touching and the heat of his breath on my lips.

As we finally touched I winced. I tried not to because I desperately wanted to kiss him, and I knew he would stop if he noticed.

He did notice, stopped and immediately pulled back. "All right?" I mentally kicked myself.

"Dammit" I whispered. "Dammit!" I groaned much louder. "John I am so sorry, I . . .oh bloody hell I have to tell you something. I just need to explain."

He nodded and said in complete seriousness "As long as the next words out of your mouth aren't 'I'm actually a man' I think I'll be ok."

I laughed half heartily He took my hand and started walking. "Tell me" he urged. We'd only gone a few steps when I stopped again and turned toward him. I leaned into him and put my cheek on his shoulder, my arms and hands awkwardly tucked in-between our chests. I couldn't look him in the face when I told him. I didn't want to see that on his face, like I was some sort of fragile glass trinket that he might accidentally break. I hated that look. His arms immediately went around me but he said nothing. God he was even a fantastic listener too. I took a deep breath. This part was always so hard, not to get out but in dealing with the reaction.

"With you, that time, kidnapped. Wasn't the first" I just wanting to get it over with. "When I was 17 it happened then too. Only I didn't get rescued in time. Only there weren't any other people. Only that time they . . ." I broke off, never sure how to explain being brutally raped in such a way that didn't scream "Here I am with all my baggage!" I took a deep breath. "I was raped and it was bad enough that I won't ever be able to have kids and that is descriptive as I care to get. Geez that's always so awkward to say."

His arms tightened around me just a bit and I heard him sigh "Jesus, I am so sorry. Mary I should have noticed, I mean I did notice of course but I thought maybe you were just . . . I'm so sorry. I . . ."

"No, let me finish. I just have to get it out there. It's not like that. I never let it be. But I, well my relationships always fail because I'm too slow. I can't just jump in, I try so hard, and oh…John I want so bad, I want to reciprocate, I DO reciprocate actually, desperately." I started fumbling all over my words, grasping for anything that I want to say in any random order. "I want to move fast to keep up because I…." The words were lost to me so I just reached my arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Please don't give up on me" was all I could manage in the end. I stood there for a minute, drowning in his scent, his arms and the gentle kiss he gave me on the top of my head. I squeezed my eyes, collected myself and pulled back, stepping away from him. "I . . . it doesn't,. . . it's not like I come with all this baggage, I don't. It doesn't follow me around or into my relationships or even the bedroom but it does make me cautious. And here you are with all your charm and directness . . . . .and cuteness . . .." I gestured at him hopelessly, hoping maybe somehow he understood.

"_I really like you, I fully expect to visit the bedroom with you in the not too distant future , I might even be falling in love with you. But I can't just jump in this fast no matter how badly I want to."_

"I'm so sorry. I just needed to say it because I don't want you to stop but I might have trouble starting." I risked a cautious glance at his face. There was pity, certainly, but there was also understanding. Like he knew exactly what it felt like to have something dark and horrible following you around, a deep and irrepressible a part of who you are, and while you dealt with it and did you best to not let it rule your heart and mind everyone else seemed to just see you as damaged goods. He didn't say anything for a good long while, but he did take my hand again and guided me to start walking with him.

When I was noticeably a bit more calm and in control he stopped again and turned me to look at him. He didn't say anything but I could easily see it in his eyes. He understood. Shit, of course he would. Wouldn't what you see as a bloody army doctor far more intense and terrifying than what I went through. It had to have been. This man, I reminded myself took a bullet in front of me and didn't even flinch until the threat was eliminated, then proceeded to talk me through performing bloody surgery _on him _to save his own life_. _

He must have seen that I had realized this because he suddenly smiled. "How about you let me help you carry your bags? That way they won't be too big a burden for you alone and when the time comes we can both leave our excessively tailored and fancy baggage at the door and get on with just being happy. I have an extra big one with the initials SH on it that might resist though."

I couldn't help but laugh. It felt good. I looked back up at him. "It is so frustrating, being so incredibly . . . and you're so . . . "

He grinned "Irresistibly charming?

I laughed again. "And I thought Sherlock was the one with the big ego. I just can't, and oh hell I don't even know what I'm saying . . ." I moaned at my own pathetic attempt to just say what I meant. So instead I just moved closer to him and kissed him lightly on the lips, pausing only for a few seconds. I could practically feel his whole body tense up to resist asking for more, now that he knew I was indeed interested. He was perfectly in control though, and let it go as it was, took my hand and motioned for me to continue walking with him.

When we made it back to the house, Sherlock was gone Not surprising according to John, so we took the car back to the hotel hoping to catch up with him there. When we got there he was in a frenzy, demanding we leave immediately because he'd figured it out and now we needed to get to . . .For what was a apparently a first, Sherlock stopped talking about his case mid-sentence and stood looking from John to me for a moment.

He narrowed his eyes to John as if to say "Oh really?" When I looked at John he wore an expression of "Yes and back off right now or you will regret saying a word."

Or at least, that is how I translated their silent conversation.


	4. Not what you think

**A/N there is more between the first chapter and this one, I just haven't gotten it finished yet. Problems with intending to do one-shots, the time line gets all shot to hell. But I'm working on it and it'll be up in the next day or two. **

This is about the first time John first stayed over. Not what you think, but I did do something naughty which is why this story goes here.

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I was sound asleep when I felt a hand gently shaking me awake. It was my flat-mate June. I opened my eyes and mumbled something unintelligible when I finally registered that she had said "Mary, John is here."

I blinked the sleep from my eyes and dragged my feet out of bed. "Why?" I asked, standing up and making to follow her.

"No idea" she replied.

So, I would have to get the story from him. I went into the front room while June headed to her room.

"Thanks June." I yawned.

I looked at John, sitting on the sofa. He looked angry.

"John?"

I said, unsure how to continue. We'd known each other for a couple of months now, and could even say we were dating but showing up at my flat in the middle of the night was not exactly on the list of new couple behavior. Then again these were not normal people I was dealing with and it was definitely not a normal relationship.

He looked up at me, trying his best to hide his anger. "So sorry Mary, I just…I just needed a place to stay."

I nodded, not asking why. "Ok. That's fine. Anytime, of course." I looked at the sofa and realized it was really not a place to sleep. It would be far too uncomfortable. I decided to take a risk. "Come on then, that won't do. You can sleep on my bed; it's a queen size, plenty of room. Nothing we haven't done before."

The look on his face was priceless.

I laughed. "Don't be daft John you're not getting lucky. I have to go to work early. But I trust you to keep your hands to yourself now that Sherlock won't be in the room.."

The new look on his face was also priceless.

I headed back to my room, ready to get back to sleep. I grabbed an extra pillow and blanket for him and let him situate himself as I lay back down. I was already falling asleep when he whispered "Thanks Mary." I nodded without opening my eyes.

The thing I hadn't counted on seems in retrospect, obvious. A few hours later I was startled awake and it took a moment to remember why there was someone else in my bed. Someone talking. No, someone dreaming. Then I remembered John coming by.

Of course, John was a soldier, had untold adventures with the world's only consulting detective and had seen his best friend supposedly kill himself. There had to be some nightmares in there somewhere, especially in times of stress. He wasn't going anything drastic, it was just obvious he was having a nightmare, tossing and turning and muttering.

A soft knock at the door told me I wasn't the only one who had just been awoken. I sat up in anticipation, not wanting to make sure she knew I had just been wrestled from sleep as well.

"Come in" I said softly.

June cracked the door open and peeked in. "All right?" She was a bit protective, as most of my friends tended to be of me.

"Yeah, I think he's having a nightmare is all." She nodded and closed the door.

I looked at John and wondered if he ever slept well, or if this was just a symptom of being angry with Sherlock. He looked utterly miserable. I sighed, the tender spot that was growing for him inside my chest winning out and scooted over to him. I put my arm over him and hugged him tightly. I knew it wasn't the smart thing to do as it would seem like an invitation and he would eagerly take it, but I couldn't sleep knowing he was right there, reliving nightmares in his dreams in a fitful sleep. He barely even stirred as I got comfortable and quickly fell back asleep, oddly satisfied with the awkward situation.

We woke at the same time, when my alarm buzzed loudly. We both lay there for a moment as we each worked through our confusion at where we were and who we were with and why we were intimately intertwined.

"Did I…?" he asked slowly, his voice uncertain.

"No no, you were having a nightmare."I reassured him. I wasn't sure how to explain how that led to our current position but he didn't question it.

"Oh. Thanks." he said awkwardly. Neither of us seemed to want to move. I liked it. He liked it.

I did finally have to get going though, as reluctant as I was to break the serenity. I couldn't be late so soon after starting a new job after all. I stood and headed toward the door, yawning and pulling on my robe. John was sitting up, feet over the side of the bed when he caught my hand as I started out the door. He must have had some lingering troubles from his nightmare and was probably feeling guilty about the position we woke up in. "Mary" he said quietly "I don't' mean to.." he stopped as though he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. "I mean, I know you think I'm really forward but I would never…" he trailed off again.

"It's ok, you didn't' do anything. I know you wouldn't." I was a bit confused. He hadn't done a thing.

"What I'm trying to say is. " He stopped again and rubbed his eyes. "Look, I never know if I'm going to be around tomorrow so I don't waste time trying to get what I want." He looked up at me, his hand still covering half his face.

Ah, so that was it. It made sense. How many times had he almost died? I didn't even know. Twice I knew of for sure. In a way I could relate, not in actually being close to losing my life but definitely afraid for it. Certainly his charm and confidence were natural but he really didn't bother waiting for things to happen, in a way that didn't seem natural. He made things happen. I had confessed my inner demons but never ventured to discover his even though they obviously the played a prominent role in his behaviour toward me.

I squeezed his hand and smiled. I understood. I really did. I left and headed for the bathroom leaving him with his thoughts.

Before I hopped in the shower it dawned on me what he'd actually meant. He didn't waste time trying to get what he wanted. He wanted me, that's why he'd been so aggressive. I looked at myself in the mirror, thinking back on my failed relationships. I moved too slowly because of my own fears rooted in my history. John moved fast because of his. I smiled at the irony. It fit. I knew we both felt connected, why was I resisting him so desperately?

I put on my robe and went back to the bedroom and cracked open the door. He was standing there buttoning up his shirt as he looked over at me. I said "I understand. Maybe I'm dwelling too much on doing it right when I'm really just risking not having it at all." He didn't understand what I mean but I didn't care. I went over to him and wrapped my arms around his neck. My heart was pounding; I'd never been the one to make things happen. I looked at him for a moment before I snogged him as I purposefully let my robe slide open and I pulled myself closer against him.

He slipped his hand inside my robe to pull me closer. He eagerly moved his hands over my waist and back as I kissed him, but no more. It was enough for both of us for the moment. He pulled back a little, not letting his gaze fall away from my face as he let go of me and pulled my robe closed.

"I guess we have to meet in the middle right?" he said when he finally stepped back in an effort to let me go get ready for work and keep himself in check.

I nodded knowing I was more ready to compromise than he was.


	5. Approval

Inevitably, they found my blog.

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I'd asked long ago if they minded if I used their names on my blog. Updating everyone separately was tedious, I explained, and I liked having one place to keep everyone apprised of my situation. They'd agreed of course. Having already been in the spotlight with their own stories and blog, my own personal account seemed unimportant. As most of you probably already know I've been happily blogging away for about two months now (being kidnapped a week after you start blogging makes for a very sudden change in theme for blogging material). The involvement of these two men in my life has taken over a large part of what I have to say each day, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew Sherlock would find it eventually. I chose to ignore that fact.

So when he found it, I was totally unprepared.

I had stopped by their flat to drop off some groceries. Mrs. Hudson was apparently away for a few days and John asked if I might bring a few things by as he should avoid carrying anything heavy and Sherlock would most definitely not being running to the store any time soon. Or that's what he told me anyway. Like the frequent visits to Bart's around my break these little errands seemed little more than excuse to spend time with me. Not that I minded.

As I was putting the groceries away (no thanks to Sherlock who never answered my questions about if I should, where things went, where John was) I nearly gagged from the smells coming from an 'experiment' on the counter. I had to rush back into the main room several times and clear my nose. The third time Sherlock, who was sitting in his chair plucking away at his violin, said "That isn't exactly the first thing I said to you, you know. And it wasn't concerned chatter. I was stating the facts that John would simply be better suited treating himself with my help than someone running up claiming to be a nurse who had just been through the ordeal of being kidnapped and held hostage for a week."

My heart caught in my throat and I was speechless for a moment. "Sorry?" I said lamely, buying myself some time to come up with a more clever retort. I hadn't written anything to be really embarrassed about but the thought of Sherlock and John reading it brought a blush to my cheeks anyway.

"You're _blog_ " he spat distastefully.

"Oh." My mind raced. How did he think so fast? "It was only five days" was my brilliant response.

"Does anyone actually read your blog? It seems incredibly devoid of any actual information."

"My friends and family do. It's just an easy way to keep them updated, rather than spending an hour on the phone with everyone every week."

He seemed to think about that for a moment, as though it were a good idea had he any friends or family he cared to update on any aspect of his life.

"And now I know why John was in such a good mood after you went to lunch after tea the first time you were over."

Now I knew he was trying to illicit a flustered response. I wouldn't give him one.

"Your flat-mate can be very charming." I said evenly, trying to hide the blush across my cheeks by going back to the kitchen.

"And predictable" he scoffed.

"Some of us like predictable, mixed with the right amount of danger."

Sherlock laughed at that. I didn't know why but he seemed to leave off his desire to rattle me so I was thankful.

"Sherlock?" I asked cautiously, coming back into the room with him.

"Mmm?" he mumbled.

"Why don't you treat me like everyone else says you will?"

He stopped plinking at his violin and looked over at me. His gaze pierced right through me, his steely eyes confident and intelligent and indifferent, yet with a hint of melancholy. I heard the door downstairs slam closed and he finally answered "That's why" before breaking his harsh stare and going back to plucking the strings on his instrument. I didn't understand until I saw John come through the door. The doctor looked at Sherlock, then me, wondering what on earth we had been talking about, probably worried he'd insulted me.

I smiled. "Afternoon John! I was just putting away the things you'd asked me to pick up. The smell is a bit over powering though."

He nodded, understanding. "Yeah, that's more common than not. Thank you so much. I just went ah . . . went for a walk."

"Feeling good then?" I asked. He had come into the kitchen with me as I put away the last few items with his guidance.

"Yeah. Great, actually. Want to go downstairs for a cuppa?"

"Always" I responded truthfully. I went back to the other room as I answered, catching Sherlock watching us with a blank expression. Our eyes met again and he smiled his fake smile.

"Do hurry John" he said loudly. "I'm so bored waiting for you to 'get better' that I have asked Lestrade for some cold cases that won't require much running around."

"Why don't you come with us?" John asked. "Get out for a bit?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Um. . . no." he said flatly as he looked between the two of us.

"All right, well, I'll be back in a bit then."

As we left, I turned and looked up at the window while John fiddled with his jacket. Sherlock was watching us, violin in hand, a beautiful melody floating down to the street. I caught his eyes yet again and he smiled. It wasn't the fake smile from before that I usually got from his stoic face but a genuine one, letting me know he'd meant what he'd said. He restrained himself, held his tongue constantly around me, because that was how much he loved John. My initial assumption had been right. He just wanted to make sure with that whatever woman John was with, that she cared about him as much as he did and could take care of him in a way he never could. I smiled back at him with a nod, because I knew that was me, and because his approval meant the world to me.

And then I remembered he was going to show John my blog as soon as he returned.


	6. Danger Night

Sometimes the story I have to tell isn't really mine to decide who hears it. Those stories don't go on my blog, they go here too.

This one is about my first "Danger Night".

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John and I were supposed to meet up at a restaurant after my shift. I was getting used to Sherlock constantly changing our plans for us but this time was different. This time I heard worry over the apology.

"John" I said, calling him back a few minutes after we'd hung up. The nagging feeling in the back of my head told me I needed to find out what was going on. "What's wrong? This is different. Sherlock isn't just demanding your presence is he?"

I heard him sigh and the pause stretched into seconds. "It's complicated" he finally said.

"He doesn't want you, he needs you doesn't he?" I guessed.

"It's all right. Mrs. Hudson and I will take care of it." I was alarmed at not only that his usual pleasantness was gone, replaced by weariness, but that he seemed to forget Mrs. Hudson was away visiting her sister.

"Mrs. Hudson is out John. Do you need my help?"

There was another long pause. For a moment I thought I suddenly understood why Sherlock said he could hear people thinking because I could swear I heard wheels turning in John's head.

"Yes Mary, I could really use the help and the company but I just don't know… You know how he is."

"John, I adore Sherlock as much as I adore you. He can say what he likes to me or about me but it's not going to change that."

There was another long pause, as though he was considering letting me cross the line over to the dark side that few rarely saw and even less survived with their tenuous attachment to Sherlock still in place. He finally relented; mostly out of selfish motivation I'm certain but also as a nod to Sherlock's veiled acceptance of me in their lives.

"Ok. It will be a long night."

"I'll be there straight away."

"Thank you."

I hung up and thought about all the things that this could possibly mean, but I knew that in Sherlock's case there probably was no constant definition of what constituted a bad night. And I knew that Sherlock didn't do anything in moderation.

When I arrived an hour later, their flat was a mess. It looked like every single thing had been turned upside down. John was sitting in his chair, his hand resting on the side of his head. I sat on the sofa.

"He's out then?" I asked, not sure if I should be blunt as was typical with them or if this situation required a more delicate touch.

He nodded. "Case gone wrong."

I wondered if this was a result of Sherlock being wrong every time. "Will he be all right?"

John still hadn't even looked at me since I'd come in. He wouldn't for several minutes.

"He'll be all right. That's why he has us." He looked exhausted and just sat in silence for several more minutes.

"John?" I asked timidly. "What can I do? Pick up? Tea?"

He finally looked up at me and smiled half heartedly. "Tea would be great. I'll take care of all this later."

"Will you be all right?"

Again there was no answer. Sherlock must have said something really horrible for his best friend to be such a dark mood. I made tea and brought it in to him and we shared a cup in silence.

"You're bloody lucky" John suddenly said. I gave him with a questioning look. "You're bloody lucky he doesn't do this to you. You're the only one."

I stood and cautiously knelt down in front of him, taking his hand in mine. "But he does. John, I've never seen you this bothered by something he said. That hurts me more than anything he could say to me." He blinked and finally looked at me, as though he hadn't noticed I was there. His expression instantly melted into relief for a brief moment. His burden shared, the gloomy look returned with just a touch less gloom. After a few minutes I stood and started to clean up the mess.

I refilled John's tea and was busying about when Sherlock returned. He paused at the door only for a second. I met his steady gaze, and I knew he understood exactly what I was saying to him. "You broke John. Right now he's _MY _John. That is NOT all right, now get the hell out of here before I convince him to come with me and not come back." I think I saw a shadow of fear, fear of a life without his best friend, flash through his mind before his hard, cold stare returned. He snorted indignantly and rushed off to his room in a hurry, slamming the door.

John looked up. "He's back then?" I nodded and went back to my work. He let out a deep sigh and stood up. "Be right back. I have to check on him." He dragged himself down the hall, opened the door and subsequently had the door slammed right back in his face within moments. He turned, came back and sank back into his chair. However this time he looked up at me and smiled and said "Safe." I stared blankly at him. "A few minor insults here and there but otherwise he'll cool off by morning. I'll just sleep here, in case. You can go home; I can handle him now that I know he's past the danger point."

I realized then that he'd gone to Sherlock's room only to get a peek at him. He knew him so well that one tiny glance could tell him if his friend would be ok. Even after harsh words and fully expecting the door to be slammed in his face, John had still gone to make sure Sherlock was all right.

I had no idea what danger Sherlock might have for himself. Drugs? Suicide? Violence? And perhaps John didn't know either but he knew when it was ok and when it wasn't. I supposed I might as well go home, but instead I went over to John, sat on the floor next to him and laid my head on his knees. His fingers absent-mindedly found their way into my hair and gently rubbed against my head.

I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up much later to a deep voice murmuring quietly somewhere above my head. I looked up to see Sherlock, obviously in the middle of saying something to John. He abruptly turned and returned to his room as I blinked in confusion through bleary eyes from him to John.

I yawned and stretched as I asked what that had been about. John smiled, all the tension and worry gone from him face.

"He said you were stupid and I should just run off with you since I was as useless as you were and we could be a happy stupid useless pair blogging about our incredibly dull and boring existences."

I tried not to take offense and asked "And what did he say just now?"

"That he was wrong."


	7. The time we got caught dancing

This is about the time we were caught dancing.

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I grinned excitedly and picked a song. I loved this song and I loved to dance to it. My friend did too, which made it all the more fun. The music started, the tempo picked up after a few beats of intro chorus. I swung my hips back and forth, my arms moving wildly in the air and let myself foolishly sing along, loudly I might add. My partner, more timid than I, followed me with far less gusto but enjoying it nonetheless. When the song ended I giggled, and picked another song I enjoyed. This was how I relaxed, had fun and even got a little exercise. Having a partner made it all the more fun, even it was a bit embarrassing. This song was a bit more on the wild side so I in turn danced a bit more wildly. My friend was getting into it a bit more, letting the music take hold and inhibitions fall away. On and on we went until we were sweaty and breathing hard. We finished one last song, the one with all the sexy moves, saving the best for last before we stopped out of sheer exhaustion.

That was when we turned and saw John and Sherlock standing in the doorway, John with a knowing grin and Sherlock trying extremely hard to just look bored, and possibly to not laugh.

Molly and I both went beet red and burst out laughing at our own ridiculousness.


	8. Concerning Sherlock

**Date 1 - 20 minutes in**

_Come at once. Found the file -SH  
_Sorry Mary, important clue turned up and have to help Sherlock sort through the data before the suspect realizes it's missing - John  
It's ok. Let me know if I can help -Mary

**Date 2 -2 hrs in**

_Are you done yet? Lestrade called. -SH  
_"Off out?" - Mary  
"Yeah. . ." - John  
"It's really ok you know." -Mary  
"Thanks" - John

**Date 3**

no interruptions, yeah!

**Date 4**

_So Sorry Mary, can't make it . . . Sherlock -JW  
Remember how we met? -MM  
Yeah - JW  
It's ok - MM_

**_Date 5 - 45 minutes in_**

_Barts in 15 - SH  
Not now -JW  
Yes now. Unexplained death body close to rigor. Need you before. - SH  
_He needs you? -Mary  
Unexplained death, body going into rigor. Needs my expertise. Look, Mary . . . -John  
How did we meet? -Mary  
. . . -John  
It's ok. I'll let you know if it's not before we start, deal? -Mary  
Deal -John


	9. Trouble follows them

Sherlock often gets into trouble.

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John and I were happily on a date with Sherlock in tow when I first witnessed just a flash of their dark sides. Certainly our introduction showed me the depth of their friendship and what they were prepared to do but even that prepare me little for what I witnessed one night when 'other' John and Sherlock appeared out of thin air when the other was threatened.

'Other' John is the opposite of John. Where there is compassion there is a cold slab of granite. Where there is affection there are nerves of steel. Where there is love, there is hate. Where there is steadfast friendship is a resolute, absolute manic desire for revenge. 'Other' Sherlock is, well just kind of scary because he's the same but is completely without restraint in what he'll do.

We had been out, the three of us, at the cinema. On rare occasions Sherlock would join us if he was bored and this was one of those times. I liked it when he joined us because believe it or not his extraordinary hatred of all things entertaining actually makes for a pretty good laugh. John hates it, because he doesn't get to enjoy the show and thinks it's a waste of money. He's right, but I still laugh a lot and that is much better than a show any day.

We'd left the cinema and were walking along the street, debating whether to get a cab, when a car screeched up behind us. Always on the alert, Sherlock and John immediately reacted (I stood there like a lump of coal but this isn't about me). Three men jumped out and two descended on Sherlock, managing to get in a blow to the back of his head with what I assumed was a gun. The third punched John in the stomach, right where his mostly healed injury was, and he went down like a sack of bricks. It happened so fast they were driving away with Sherlock in tow barely seconds after they jumped out of the car. John however, was not about to be defeated. He managed to sit up and reach under his jacket to pull out his gun (he had a gun on him all night?). He was breathing hard, but he steadied his aim at the car speeding away for only a second. When he fired his gun twice and the car swerved and crashed into a sign post I confirmed what I suspected about what an amazing shot he actually was.

Like I said before, his confidence is attractive. Apparently so is his ability take down a car speeding away with his best friend inside after being punched in a newly healed gunshot wound. Of course at the moment all I cared about was Sherlock's safety but later I definitely let John know what an amazing thing it was to witness.

The car crashed and John wasted no time running over and yanking open the driver's door. The crash had knocked him unconscious so John moved on. He pulled open the back door with such force that I thought the door might fall to the ground in protest. The John I knew was gone and in his place was someone hard, cold, unforgiving and out for bloody murder if necessary. From where I stood I saw him immediately point his gun inside the car, presumably at someone's head. Suddenly he lowered his gun and the dark look disappeared as he grinned. He brought his hand up over his side as he turned and leaned against the car, groaning "Jesus, shit that hurt." Unbelievably, Sherlock climbed out, rubbing the back of his head. As I rushed up I heard him saying he had it all under control while John just laughed and said "Of course you did."

Sherlock just looked at him. "I saw what he did. He wasn't going to get away with that." His voice and his face were dark and I knew he wasn't kidding as his eyes flickered to where John's arm was pressed against his tender side. I glanced inside the car and both perpetrators were out cold and looking like they were going to be in quite a lot of pain when they woke up. In a matter of seconds Sherlock had, with a head wound, incapacitated two men in the back seat of a car motivated not by his own safety but because he'd seen John hit the ground.

"And I wasn't going to let them run off with you" John countered.

"You didn't hit the driver." Sherlock said, the surprise sneaking through.

"Wasn't trying to" John was still panting and holding his side. "Just wanted to stop the car. I want to know who the _hell_ they are." I saw Sherlock roll his eyes. Obviously he already knew.

I didn't like how pale John had gotten so I went over and started unbuttoning his shirt to check for damage. He just looked at me, still grinning. "Idiots" I mumbled. They both laughed. I was shaking, and I hadn't been touched or done a single thing yet they were laughing like it was the funniest thing that could have possibly happened while I trembled like a puppy in a thunderstorm.

The wail of sirens in the distance told us the police were close. "Called Lestrade then?" asked John, wincing as I ran my hand over his side. There was no new damage but the wound was still tender and already starting to bruise a little in protest. I buttoned his shirt back up. He would still need to be checked, just in case. Before I'd even finished he was already leaning over to check Sherlock's head to see how bad his injury was.

"Of course, you've trained me well" I said as I finished buttoning his shirt. They had put Lestrade's number on my phone and instructed me to call him if anything ever happened like this. Apparently this kind of training was necessary if you wanted to spend any amount of time around them. John, satisfied Sherlock was fine, put his head back against the car and closed his eyes and mumbled to himself "Jesusfuckingmaryofgodthahurt sobloodybad".

Sherlock wandered off to find Lestrade and I could see his mouth moving rapidly as he described the event once he found him. I turned back to John and put my forehead against his chest. "No wonder you two are always bored with things like this happening to you all the time. You're just adrenaline junkies. God I was scared."

John thought about that for a minute, replacing his grin with a much more contemplative look. He said softly, taking my hands, "I'm sorry, I know it's a bit hard to take. I'd understand if you didn't want to…"

I cut him off with a kiss and look him right in the eyes."Remember how we met" I scolded him, on eyebrow raised. "Nope, nope you can't get rid of me that easy. Besides, that was just about the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

He laughed. "What, the falling to the ground, or shooting a gun?"

"Hmm…" I pondered. "Neither. Seeing how fast you react and serious you both get when you think the other is in danger. I feel sorry for any of the criminals who cross your path." He glanced at Sherlock awkwardly for awhile before turning his eyes back to me. "What can I do, he's my best friend. You find that sexy do you?" He'd turned on the charm again.

I tilted my head, unsure what exactly I had meant but that was about what it amounted to. "Yeah, yeah I do."


	10. It really is your business

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This little nugget is about the time I had to explain to Sherlock Holmes why I can't have kids.

We had spent the weekend out at my parent's summer house in the country, our first time away together alone (if you get my drift). I'd already had the conversation with John, obviously, but when we returned Sherlock made a callous remark about hoping we hadn't turned John into a father, as that would interfere with their cases. I usually get on fine with Sherlock but that is a bit of a soft spot for me and frankly just rude. So, I fired back, in the most irritated voice I could muster, that he needn't worry because it wasn't possible.

That elicited a curious, albeit harmless, "Why?" from him to which John groaned, "Just leave it Sherlock, please?"

I didn't want to cause a row so I told him very bluntly and quickly before the two could start arguing, "When I was 17 I was kidnapped." I waved my hand about acknowledging the irony of being kidnapped more than once. "I wasn't so lucky that time and the damage was irreversible, hence no kids for me, ever." I could feel John wince next to me. He was expecting the worst and most hurtful thing to come out of Sherlock's mouth, but his friend surprised us.

"Oh. I didn't realize. Terribly sorry . . ." he trailed off like he was thinking of saying something more, but he remained silent. John gawked at him. I smiled.

"It's fine" I said honestly. "It was a very long time ago and it's not something I dwell on."

He looked at me through narrowed eyes for a moment and I knew he was mentally tearing me apart. If he found anything of interest he kept it to himself as he always did. To this day I have yet to experience the "Sherlock Rundown" as I like to call it.

"Anything else you'd like to know?" John muttered at his friend, obviously put out by the conversation but knowing that it was just easier to get questions out of the way and over with.

"Yes" he replied. "How did you take the news that Mary is wealthy?"

"We didn't talk about it really but I did manage to figure that one out, thanks."

"And?"

"And what? She doesn't particularly want to talk about it. You know, kidnapping and all. I don't particularly want to think about it either, if I don't have to. We can blissfully pretend it's not an issue if you don't mind."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully. "Give my regards to your flat mate Mary, and Molly tomorrow. Good seeing you. I have some things I need to discuss with John now."

I smiled at him. "Well that was easy. I expected more questions or cheeky remarks. This awkward conversation was handled with far more grace than I'm used to."

Sherlock smirked. "I try not to anger you Mary. You have the power to take John away from me. Plus you saved his life. That counts for something."

I hugged John, noting he was trying to hide his embarrassment. It must be awkward being the center of two people's universes like this but that's just a testament to the kind of guy he is.

"Well, thanks for that." I went over to Sherlock and wrapped my arm around his neck, enjoying his discomfort. "I could never take him from you, you're his first love" I whispered in his ear so John wouldn't hear.

"See you later!" I called as I left the two of them, John watching after me and Sherlock watching John. I know because I turned and looked.

It was a moment worth remembering, and I always will.


End file.
